


Abandoned

by Dominatrix



Series: 120 Raindrops on the window [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, He misses her like hell, Hurt, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barely a day passed on which he didn’t wish that she would return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> This OS is based on the song "Amsterdam" by Fettes Brot. As it is a German song, I was so kind to translate it. The translation can be found below the work. Though it might not fit the situation 100% I think it fits the atmosphere quite well.

It rained.

It had been raining for days.

To be exact, for three days, eighteen hours and thirty-two minutes.

At least he counted from that point on. It wasn’t like it woke Sherlock’s interest, or that it would be of importance, but he had to fill his head with something so he couldn’t think about other things. Because of that he spent almost four days now desperately stuffing his mind with as many things as possible which pushed out the only important thing.

His mind was dizzy with all kinds of knowledge he would have deleted right away under other circumstances: How it was going in the British rugby league, how a prefect soufflé really needed to be made…He had even listened to John with his trivial relationship problems and reminded everything. The lady was called Clarice, had dark, curly hair and owned three big dogs: Cherry, Rose and Luna.

One didn’t quite recognise Sherlock’s inner despair; he was as restless as he always was. Just the seldom glances at his phone would have told that something wasn’t right.

She had written him a text message four days ago. He hadn’t heard anything of her since the thing in Karachi, for seven months. And now she showed up and really thought that he was still interested in what she did with her life?

It rather spoke against him that she was absolutely right in thinking so. In the first moment he hadn’t believed it, had just stared down on the message doubtfully.

_I fear we won’t have dinner. IN_

He had wasted a splinter second on the possibility that the person might have sent the message by mistake; then he had abolished it. It was _her_ style to write him this way. Just the abbreviation made him stop short. Some research brought him to a result he would have never thought of.

 _N_ was for Norton. He was a rich businessman from America who had spent some time in England before he had continued his travel to the Netherlands. Irene had accompanied him.

Irene Norton.

It sounded horrible. But even if he was a little worried about who this Norton might me – there was nothing bad about him, not even a ticket for false parking, there had to be something wrong with him – he knew that he would rather have to worry about the poor Mr. Norton than about Irene Now-Not-Anymore-Adler. Irene would destroy this Norton the way she had destroyed Sherlock.

Until four days ago he hadn’t completely believed that she had had a great influence on his life. Then her message came and within several hours the whole world of illusions which he had built up in the seven months after her rescue started to shatter like thin ice.

In Amsterdam the weather surely wasn’t better than here in London. However she had vanished and left England behind, left Sherlock behind, probably without hesitating once.

He should have probably awaited this; he knew her requirements only too well. But he wouldn’t have thought that she would bind herself to a man out of free will. The feeling that crept up his throat was an unbearable mixture of disappointment, non-understanding and jealousy. Yes, he was jealous of Norton. Solely the fact that she wouldn’t make him too happy comforted him a bit.

The time after he had saved her had given him the opportunity to talk himself into the idea that she hadn’t left an impression. He had known the whole time that he had been only pretending. She had slept in his bed once. He had had to burn the covers, her ferociously beautiful scent had burned in his nose too much, even after he had washed them several times. He could only barely resist setting the whole bed room on fire, too. As a compensation he had done some experiments in his room, because the smell of brimstone and burnt hair was easier to bear for him than any faint hint of her perfume which had nested in his curtains, his books, and above all his mind.

Barely a day passed on which he didn’t wish that she would return.

By now he had given up pretending that he didn’t miss her like hell.

Now he at least had the safety that she would never come back.

It created clarity.

But it didn’t make him feel better.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, she walked off  
> To Amsterdam  
> This one woman  
> With another man
> 
> I’m so alone  
> I loved you so much  
> Your room is empty  
> Like the city on Sunday mornings  
> Memory is everything I have left from you  
> I run back and forth  
> Back and forth, and worry
> 
> You always wanted to go to Amsterdam  
> And at some point this whole madness started  
> I thought you’d come home when it gets dark  
> But you ran straight ahead and never turned back
> 
> Oh, she walked off  
> To Amsterdam  
> This one woman  
> With another man
> 
> A ticking clock and silence  
> In front of the house a wildered garden  
> On the wallst he shadow of frames  
> Where years before our pictures used to be  
> This house is abandoned  
> Where we celebrated, fought and laughed
> 
> Today I only see you in my dreams  
> All bridges blown up  
> All letters burned  
> I wish you luck  
> And I hope you find in Amsterdam what you didn’t find in me
> 
> Oh, I should have known  
> That you would really do it  
> That you leave me behind  
> Turning around, breaking all ties  
> I thought you’d come home when it gets dark  
> But you ran straight ahead and never turned back
> 
> Oh, she walked off  
> To Amsterdam  
> This one woman  
> With another man


End file.
